


Stupid for You

by silver_tongued



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blind Date, Christmas Miracle, Coffee Shop, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mistakes that lead to love, Olivarry Secret Santa 2018, future boyfriends following their hearts, supportive sisters iris and thea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 15:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_tongued/pseuds/silver_tongued
Summary: It starts with a blind date and a mistake but slowly becomes so much more.—Barry has been waiting for twenty-seven minutes now. The waiters have started giving him pitying looks as they serve him yet another glass of tap water – even the lady sitting in the corner of the café shoots him a sympathetic glance over the rim of her mug.He’s just about to leave when his eyes flicker to the door and everything stops.Oliver Queen walks through the door. Oliver-freaking-Queen.





	Stupid for You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LikeASpeedingArrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeASpeedingArrow/gifts).



> This is my Secret Santa gift to LikeASpeedingArrow and I think I managed to combine elements from all the tropes you gave me. I hope you like it!

Barry has been waiting in Stubbs for twenty-seven minutes now. The waiters have started giving him pitying looks as they serve him yet another glass of tap water – even the lady sitting in the corner of the café shoots him a sympathetic glance over the rim of her mug before returning to an animated conversation with her friends.

Fingers drumming against the marble table, he ducks his head, feeling oddly exposed sitting in the centre of the coffee shop alone at a table for two. His phone lights up and his heart leaps to his throat, having finally been acknowledged.

_**the best:** sorry, barr! i’m going Christmas shopping with eddie_   
_**nerd:** you only have two days left!_   
_**nerd:** how have you not bought everything?_   
_**the best:** i know i know sorryy_   
_**the best:** rain check?_

It takes all of Barry’s self-control not to groan out loud. It’s not the first time Iris has cancelled plans with him for her most recent love interests (in this case it’s Eddie but the difference is that Barry actually _likes_  this guy). He’s not jealous in any way – Iris is practically his sister! – in fact, he’s happy for them; even then, it would have been nice if she’d texted him before he ended up humiliating himself in his sad isolation.

For goodness sake, everyone thought he had been stood up by a blind date! A single half-eaten slice of cheesecake sits temptingly in front of him – a pity gift that the waiters blessed upon him. It would’ve been humiliating if the cake hadn’t tasted so good.

All things considered, though, he couldn’t be too bitter. It’s some twisted sense of tasting his own medicine – especially since he’s definitely left Iris waiting at least an hour and a half before at some convention.

He’s just about to leave when his eyes flicker to the door, its bell still ringing and everything stops.

Oliver Queen walks through the door. Oliver-freaking-Queen.

There’s a surprising lack of reaction amongst the other patrons – either they don’t notice (too distracted by their own conversations) or they don’t recognise him. Heck, Barry’s not even sure if it actually is Oliver Queen; the man is only wearing a thin autumn jacket over a shirt and jeans which is ridiculous considering the sub-zero temperature outside.

Barry is frozen. Every thought in his brain is screaming for him to get a grip and look away or act casual or _something_  – anything is better than blatant staring! Really, who can blame him. Oliver Queen is a god walking the mortal grounds. Everything from his clear but guarded blue-green eyes and his muscles to his confidence and the way he can silence a crowd with a single look. If Oliver Queen claimed the sky was purple, several would probably actually check.

Though not exactly a celebrity, the Queens are relatively well known: especially with Robert Queen getting lost at sea and the consequent plummet of Queen Consolidated. Oliver Queen himself had been a bit of a legend before, having been a well-known billionaire’s playboy son. Now, however, he seems to keep to himself, slowly building his father’s company back up and keeping away from the tabloids. There really isn’t that much Barry knows about him – except that Oliver is very hot.

Barry is still watching at Oliver as the man scans the room. Next thing Barry knows, Oliver has those demanding blue eyes fixed on him and is striding in a clear and direct path to Barry’s table.

He’ll deny it in the future, but he _panics_.

There are literal seconds before Oliver reaches his table and, in true Barry Allen style, he tears his gaze away and attempts some semblance of nonchalance by jamming his glass to his mouth before realising that it’s empty and now he looks like even more of an idiot.

Whether Oliver doesn’t notice or chooses to spare Barry the humiliation, it’s a true blessing that he decides not to mention anything.

Oliver stops by the empty seat opposite Barry and Barry makes proper eye contact for the first time. There’s a slight tilt in Oliver’s lips – the kind of framed smile that people have as they’re about to make an important business transaction. And yet, Oliver shifts his weight from one foot to another, his eyes slightly uneasy.

_He’s nervous,_  Barry realises, along with something along the lines of _whythefuckohmygoshwhat_.

“Hi...ah,” Oliver begins his question with a lack of fluency that is uncharacteristic for him, “are you my blind date?”

Now, Barry’s had a lot of shocks today and it seems to be snowballing to become even more chaotic but this? This was ridiculous.

All it takes is a single question to unleash the rambling mess that is Barry Allen.

It’s as though he’s lost his brain to mouth filter and his limbs aren’t even functioning properly and _oh gosh_  is he trying to stand up?

“I’m Barry,” he introduces, scrambling up to shake the other man’s hand, almost knocking over his glass, “I’ve been here for quite a while...not that I’m trying to make you feel bad! I just - uh -”

Oliver takes Barry’s warm hand in his own, skepticism colouring his eyes.

“Right - ah - sorry,” Barry’s head lowers praying that the burning in his cheeks isn’t obvious, “Should we sit down? I think- I think we should sit.”

With all the grace and poise of a CEO in the making, Oliver takes the chair opposite Barry’s, barely drawing any attention to his practically incoherent speech.

“Oliver Queen” he reinforces, smiling slightly in the hope that it’d put the young man at ease, “it’s nice to meet you, Barry.”

There’s almost frantic head bobbing, “Yeah, I know. That you’re Oliver, not the second part,” he winces, suddenly realising how _creepy_  that sounds, “I’m sorry, I tend to go off when I’m nervous, I’ll stop now. It’s nice to meet you too. You can have some of this cheesecake.”

Letting out a less-than-obvious breath, Barry sinks into his chair, watching Oliver carefully poke at the cake with a fork and praying that maybe - just maybe - he’d be able to control his speech

There’s no obvious sign that Oliver’s getting more comfortable but he’s not leaving either so that’s a good sign, Barry decides. And then it hits him: Oliver’s here on a blind date. He thinks I’m his blind date.

Really and truly, Barry has messed up.

“So, Barry, what do you work as?” Oliver starts, somehow composed despite Barry’s apparent humiliation.

Good. Great. This is a question Barry can answer without messing up. “I’m a CSI at CCPD - assistant CSI actually. I’ve been working there for a couple of years now.”

Oliver nods like that makes sense and hey, maybe this conversation isn’t too bad after all!

“There have been the recent cases,” Barry remembers, his eyes lighting up, “they’re so... _bizarre._ ”

Immediately, he launches into the story of a murder involving a banjo and a microwave and Oliver listens in fascination, a small smile on his face as he listens to the brunette speak with such passion.

“Why a CSI?” Oliver asks, leaning forward in his seat.

Barry pauses, the usual lie already sitting on his tongue instead decides to be honest, “Well, my father got framed for my mother’s murder.”

Oliver stills suddenly, hyperaware of the feelings and guilty for stumbling upon a sensitive topic but Barry carries on, trying to veer the conversation away from this sombre tone, “I am learning to accept it...it’s not easy and I’m never going to stop trying to find the real killer but it no longer plagues me at night.”

He offers Oliver a soft and sincere smile, a show of support that _someday it will get better._

“Even so,” Barry adds sheepishly, “I’m a bit of a science nerd so I probably would have ended up in a similar situation anyway.”

He doesn’t really give Oliver time to respond, instead plunging into another unique topic of conversation, “Ya know zombies do exist?” before going on to describe zombie ants and they get sucked in to their own bubble of a world which is all hope and light and God, how did Barry get on to talking about penguins.

“They’re the most loving of all animals!” Barry insists, arms flailing, “they huddle and everything!”

Oliver’s arms rest on the table as he laughs. A true laughter that kind of resounds throughout the coffee shop, the sound of the smile in his eyes overflowing into the air.

It’s that moment Barry knows he really is in trouble.

Watching Oliver grin, all-teeth and eyes, hearing his laughter...Barry knows he would do anything to keep that kind of joy on Oliver Queen’s face. Which is ridiculous because he’s crushing on a guy who thinks Barry is his date when he really isn’t.

This is a mess.

It only gets worse when there’s suddenly a mess of blonde hair and scarf appears in the corner of his vision.

“Ah, hi,” she starts, readjusting her glasses and turning to Oliver, “Are you Oliver?”

One glance at his narrowed eyes and she ploughs on, “I’m so sorry – there was this bus and some really bad traffic and I knew I was going to late…but I’m here now!”

A hesitant laugh escapes her and she sticks out a firm hand, “Felicity. Smoak. Laurel Lance set us up I think?”

The bubble doesn’t pop. It freezes and shatters.

There’s a sinking feeling in Barry’s stomach. Oliver’s eyes widen infinitesimally, not-quite hurt rolling off him in waves, as he turns to stare questioningly at Barry who ducks his head, avoiding further eye contact and hopes that the burning shame is not at all obvious.

The woman, Felicity, holds her hands up and gestures vaguely to the two, “Wait. Am I- am I interrupting something?”

_Yes._ Barry wants to say but how can he when the situation is his fault anyway.

Through his lowered lashes he can see Oliver tilt his head and put on a half-smile.

“No, not at all. Barry and I were just catching up,” he reassures her with all the ease of a CEO.

Barry’s head shoots up, all too willing to go along with the lie, “Ye-yeah, no, don’t worry about it. I was just leaving.”

Stumbling to his feet like a deer just learning to walk - all limbs and no coordination - Barry gathers his jacket up and gives Felicity what he hopes is a reassuring smile but could be mistaken for a grimace, painfully aware that his ears are scarlet and refusing to meet Oliver’s eyes.

“Sorrysorrysorry,” he mumbles - both to Felicity for being in her way and to Oliver for...everything, “it was nice - uh -seeing you, Oliver.”

Head lowered, he speed walks (read: scrambles) out of the café where the bitter wind slaps him.

For a moment he stands there, the chill clawing into his bones, absolutely mortified.

What the hell did he just do?

* * *

The date with Felicity isn’t awful. In fact, it’s quite nice except for the fact that Oliver had genuinely thought he had just _been_ on a date a literal two seconds before she first opened her mouth.

In a few ways she’s similar to Barry in the lack of brain to mouth filter yet at the same time…maybe it’s the stiffness in which she holds herself or her sharp, green hawk eyes but he can’t find himself relaxing the same way he did with Barry.

With Oliver being distracted by a pair of bright hazel eyes and loose-lipped grin, the date seems to pass in a blur and ends with a mutual agreement that _we probably wouldn’t work out but it was really nice to meet you_ before they part their separate ways.

The whole drive home Oliver cannot stop thinking about Barry. There was something so endearing about the man’s foot-in-mouth tendencies and his complete and utter openness that sent Oliver’s heart pounding. It was such a change from his previous dates who just tried much too hard. With Barry, he felt like he was just Oliver – not Oliver Queen ex-billionaire, ex-playboy, struggling CEO.

Everything about the man was so genuine and kind but still, Oliver cannot figure out why he would lie about being his blind date.

Barry didn’t outright say that he was Oliver’s blind date, Oliver recalls as he combs through his memory of the encounter, still, it’s not like Barry said anything against it.

Though Oliver’s not sure if he wanted the date to end – whether intentional or not.

He really can’t remember the last time he laughed that much with someone who wasn’t his sister or Laurel. There was something about Barry – a sort-of warmth that embraces you and cushions you. Somehow, Barry means safety, light and love.

Barry is an open book. Loving and sharing so freely that Oliver can learn all this from a single conversation.

He wants to talk to Barry more.

When he gets home, Thea is lounging on the sofa, limbs spread like some sort of cat, her eyes brightening and gesturing for him to join her, “Ollie! How was the date?”

Now, Oliver could brush the whole incident off in his typical nonchalant fashion but this – _Barry_ – has been stuck in his head for the past few hours he has to do _something_ about it.

So he tells Thea.

She listens with rapt attention, though it’s clear by the way that smirk crawls across her face that she’s struggling to hold her laughter back.

“So you wanna find this guy? Barry?”

Oliver startles, “I don’t- I guess. I just want to talk to him but I don’t even know his last name.”

“From the way you talk about him, it sounds like you want to do more than talk to him,” Thea teases, delight colouring her features as pink dusts her brother’s cheeks.

He rolls her eyes at her childishness (though there may be an element of truth to her words), “Look, I won’t be able to even speak to him if I can’t find him.”

“You could put an ad on Craigslist.” She suggests, a devious look in her eyes.

“Ha-have you seen Craigslist? It’s full of machetes and dick pictures,” he sputters, incredulously. What made him think Thea could help again?

She stares at him, “Do you even use the Internet? Look, if you want to find him so desperately, just go back to the café, dumbass.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“That’s actually a sensible suggestion,” Oliver comments in mock awe, leaning over to peck his sister on the forehead and getting up, “thank you.”

“This is why I’m the best!” She calls to his retreating figure, a remark which he ignores with a wave of his hand, hope reigniting itself to a flicker on this cold winter evening.

Oliver arrives at Stubbs at exactly the same time he had arrived the day before – 11:34am. It’s a long shot but maybe, just maybe, Barry might want to talk to Oliver too. He does owe Oliver an explanation at least.

Sitting in the corner of the shop, he has the perfect view of the door and, after ordering a cup of coffee, he waits.

And waits.

Several times he thinks he might have just seen Barry only to be severely disappointed as the guy turns around. He refuses to give up – there are other ways to find people, right?

It suddenly hits him that it’s _Christmas Eve_. Everyone’s probably busy doing last minute Christmas shopping, spending time with family or preparing for some fancy countdown dinner. Definitely not sitting in cafés in the hopes of meeting your fake blind date.

Still, there’s no harm in asking the waitress at the cashier.

“Do you know if Barry has come in today? Brown hair, about my height, kind of lanky?”

“Sorry, hon,” the brunette shakes her head, giving him a sad smile, “But I think whoever you were looking for left about ten minutes before you.

A weight drops in Oliver’s stomach. He wants to curse – so damn close.

“He’s the one who was here yesterday, right?” she nods to herself, “yeah, he was with this other girl. Dark hair, dark skin. Really pretty.”

The way she says it like a warning. Forget his stomach, Oliver’s heart plummets.

Of course there’s someone else.

* * *

As soon as Barry stepped out of view from the café, he had called Iris and spilled everything. He had completely forgotten that she was with Eddie who she promptly ditched with a quick kiss and “I’ll see you for Christmas dinner?” so that they could both get home as soon as possible so that Barry could retell the entire story from the very beginning.

Once Iris had gotten past the “Oh my God you met Oliver Queen.” “You went on a date with Oliver Queen.” (“fake date,” Barry had interrupted) stage and having skipped the part where she laughs at Barry for his rambling, she jumped to the planning.

“You need to find him, Barry,” she had insisted, her chocolate brown eyes staring straight into his in a way that made him slightly nervous, “talk to him again. Explain what happened and…who knows? You might just score yourself a boyfriend. A Christmas miracle!”

“Iris!” He had protested, blushing, “I dunno. He might get along well with Felicity.”

At her name, Iris’ smile had fallen slightly, her eyebrows furrowed, “You’re sure he’s a good person, right Barr? I mean…he doesn’t have the best reputation.”

“He’s nothing like the tabloids. Besides, that was ages ago.” Barry insisted, “He’s different now. He listened to me. I- I felt like I could trust him. I do trust him.”

Iris had shrugged, “Tomorrow we can go to Stubbs. Hang out there for a while – maybe he’ll turn up.”

Which brings them to now, Barry constantly scanning the room for Oliver, foot tapping against the tiled floor whilst Iris has one hand wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, the other tightly gripping her phone.

“Oliver doesn’t seem to have any social media,” she comments, frowning as she scrolls, “he’s a ghost. His whole family is – there’s nothing recent about the Queen family except for business deals and stuff.”

Never before has Barry been so grateful that Iris is a journalist – he would not have been able to handle this by himself.

“You could check Craigslist,” a mischievous smile crosses her face, “maybe he put up an ad.”

Barry almost chokes on his hot chocolate, “What- Why would he be trying to find me? Why would he use _Craigslist_?”

“Maybe you made an impression,” a shrug, “who knows? Do it anyway.”

“This is stupid,” he grumbles, taking out his own phone.

“See? Nothing.” Waving the screen in front of Iris’ face, he feigns indifference, ignoring the sharp pang in his heart.

They sit for a while longer discussing plans: “Drop by Queen Consolidated?” “It’s Christmas Eve – it’s gonna be closed.” “What about the Queen Mansion?” “Sold it a while ago.”

Finally Iris sighs apologetically, “Barr, it’s already half past eleven and I do still need to get some more Christmas presents.”

“No, yeah, I get it,” Barry agrees, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, we can look for him more after Christmas, okay?” She smiles, squeezing his hand.

Barry nods silently, a weak smile on his face as they leave the café.

The rest of the day, he follows Iris around more or less mutely, smiling and nodding appropriately when she asks his opinion. It’s chaotic – sees of heads scrambling to get their last-minute gifts and take advantage of the Christmas sales.

Iris is in the middle of showing him a scarlet-red, sequined dress, “I know I’m meant to be buying presents but this dress is gorgeous – it’s perfect for clubbing – oh!”

“Iris, what are you…?”

Her eyes widen and Barry can almost picture the lightbulb appearing over her head. She shoves her loot into his arms, “I’ve just had the best idea. If you could just,” she waves vaguely to her shopping and tosses him her purse, “help me pay up? I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Do you not believe in baskets or something?” Barry complains, readjusting himself to manage, “ _What are you doing?”_

“Just do it. Please.” And Barry has no choice but to agree because Iris disappears into the crowd, leaving him dumbfounded with his arms full of Christmas presents.

It’s two in the morning when Barry next hears from Iris.

“Barry!” She practically screams into the phone, way too loud and pitchy for this time of the day.

“…Iris?” He slurs, mind already going back to _please let me sleep_.

“I’ve fixed it!”

Only now does he register the blaring music and shouting in the background and he sits up, bringing the phone closer to his ear, “Iris? What do you mean? Where the hell are you?”

“Well, I didn’t find him – not exactly – I found his sister. I’m at her club, Verdant, now!”

Barry blinks, struggling to process anything. “What-why? Are you _drunk_? Your dad is going to kill you if you’re hungover.” He hisses.

There’s a muffle of sound and gradually it gets quieter; the whistling of the wind being the only thing he can hear.

“Calm down, I’m not drunk. Maybe tipsy.” He can practically hear her rolling her eyes, “Look, I’m coming home now and I have solved your Oliver Queen problem.” She adds, smugly.

“Iris- What the hell-“

“Merry Christmas!”

_beep_

Barry stares at his phone in utter incredulity. But as he slowly sifts through Iris’ words, a seed plants itself and starts to grow. A warmth blossoming in the pit of his stomach. He tries to calm it – refusing to let the hope grow too much to only be met with disappointment.

Still, meeting Oliver again?

It’s a thought that puts a smile on his face as he drifts back to sleep.

* * *

“Thea, this isn’t going to work.” Oliver stresses.

When Thea had thrown herself into his bedroom, wishing him a quick merry christmas before laying out her Plan, Oliver had been mildly irritated to say the least.

“If you just _try_ and actually get to Stubbs at 11. I guarantee you it will work.”

“Thea- no.”

“I don’t understand why you suddenly don’t want to do this, Ollie! The whole of yesterday-“

“He’s dating someone!” Oliver interrupts sharply, refusing to let his voice crack, “They were at the coffee shop together yesterday.”

Thea stills and then her nose crinkles, “This girlfriend didn’t happen to have dark hair, slightly taller than me, dark skinned?"

Oliver raises an eyebrow and Thea bursts into peals of laughter.

“You idiot,” she says, fondly, “that’s his sister.”

Oliver’s eyes widen and suddenly he feels a bit stupid. “So this plan…?”

“Was something that she and I came up with last night when she came over to Verdant.” Thea confirms.

“She?”

“Iris.”

“How-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Thea insists.

“It’s Christmas!”

“And?”

“He’ll be with his family!”

“Not right that second!”

The two stare at each other, Oliver looking down at Thea, matching pairs of green eyes with equal resilience, refusing to back down.

“Just do it.” Thea whispers, “You deserve to be happy.”

Oliver breaks eye contact first, “okay” he agrees quietly.

“Okay?” Thea confirms, bouncing on her toes.

“Okay.” He grins, pulling his sister into a hug. “What would I do without you, Speedy?”

“Well, for one you wouldn’t have this date.”

“It’s not a date!”

Maybe, Oliver can just about admit to himself that it is.

* * *

_[25 thDecember 2018 - 9.12 a.m.]_

**_the best:_ ** _okay meet at Stubbs at 10.30._

**_nerd:_ ** _why? where are you?_

**_the best:_ ** _out._

**_the best:_ ** _just go!_

**_nerd:_ ** _you’re lucky i trust you._

* * *

 

Oliver arrives precisely on time. He’s definitely underdressed for both the season and the location – only wearing a single layer beneath a winter coat. Despite insisting that he doesn’t get cold, with every snowflake that falls, the chill only sinks deeper into his skin, numbing his fingers.

The waitress from the day before greets him with a brief wave and a warning that they’re closing early as he seats himself at the back of the café.

Oliver’s hands are shaking slightly and he’s not entirely sure if it’s just from the cold. His stomach is doing somersaults because even though he’s talked to Barry before, this will be different because it’s an actual date! He’s long gotten over Barry tricking him, accepting that it was probably the best mistake he could have made.

It’s just…talking to the man you may-or-may-not have a crush on will bring even the most suave of businessmen to nervousness.

The café itself is relatively quiet save a few individuals, so it really shouldn’t be too hard for Oliver to find Barry.

Time seems to stretch out. Oliver downs another cup of coffee. He fiddles with the teaspoon. The waitress clears his mug. Barry still hasn’t arrived.

His stomach clenches and doubts like parasites begin to gnaw at his mind. His hands curl into fists and closes his eyes, opening them on a long exhale as though Barry would suddenly come crashing in.

Nothing.

What if Barry doesn’t want to see him?

“Sir, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The brunette – Alex – her name tag reads, says apologetically, “We’re closing soon.”

“Please, is it okay if i just stay for another ten minutes?” Oliver asks, heart not giving up quite yet, “I’m waiting for someone.”

Maybe it’s his almost-broken tone or the fact that she’s seen him here the past two days but she agrees, bringing him another cup of coffee and wishing him luck.

It’s nearing the eight-minute mark (the most excruciating eight minutes of Oliver’s life) when the bell hanging over the head jingles. A clear, crisp sound that’s followed by a cold-induced hazel-green eyed brunette.  
  
Barry.

He stands in the doorway, face barely visible through his scarf, breathing air into his fingers, too focused on getting warm to notice his surroundings.

Oliver isn’t sure what it is but he stands up abruptly, his chair dragging across the floor. At the sound, Barry’s head shoots up to stare at Oliver, mouth falling open.

“Oliver, I’m so sorry about-“

The man can barely finish his apology before Oliver has pulled him into his chest in a tight embrace, barely reacting to the coldness that clings to Barry’s clothes.

Though initially surprised by the surge of affection, Barry relaxes into the hug quickly. It’s clear he’s a hugger by the way he sort of melts into Oliver’s body but still has his arms around the other man in a way that makes Oliver feel secure and loved.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about you.” Barry confesses, the words dripping into Oliver’s ear like honey. “Is that weird?”

Oliver pulls away and there’s this look on Barry’s face which is a mix of relief and joy and though Oliver may be interpreting it wrong – some element of love.

“Me neither.” Oliver admits, “If it is, then we can be weird together.”

Barry’s entire face lights up and Oliver can just _feel_ his heart melting. When he got so ridiculously soft, he has no idea. He can only believe that Barry Allen has just made him stupid with love.

Gesturing to the exit, he gently nudges Barry out into the snow, ignoring the pout that Barry gives him for having to go out into the cold weather again.

Hesitantly, Barry’s hand reaches for Oliver’s – his eyes never leave Oliver’s face as though asking _is this okay?_ And when he nods, the beginnings of a smile on his face, Barry interlocks Oliver’s fingers with his own, leading the older man out of the coffee shop where they first met.

Once outside with each other, the snow doesn’t feel so intrusive, the cold no longer as biting. Their hands tighten together as they linger outside Stubbs for a moment more. There’s a silence – comfortable but strung with energy and waiting for someone to do something.

It’s Barry who moves first, his eyes widening in realisation as he reaches into his pocket. “I’m so sorry I was late – Iris told me to be there at ten thirty but I went out and lost track of time.”

“How did you manage to be so late when she asked you to come half an hour early?” Oliver asks, a tone of endearment in the question.

“I-uh,” Barry blushes, “I thought I’d get you something for Christmas.” Almost daintily, he reveals a green satin box and gives it to Oliver.

Quietly, Oliver lets his numb fingers tug at the ribbon so that he can open the box. Within it, a ceramic Christmas ornament in the shape of a coffee mug with the date ‘23rdDecember 2018’ written in permanent ink in the corner.

Oliver can almost feel the tears rising, “I- thank you Barry. I really like it.” He swallows, “Barry, I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s okay,” Barry reassures, “there’s always next year.” his eyes widen and he flushes an even darker red, “That is, if we’re going to- I mean- oomph”

That’s all Oliver can take and he surges forward and kisses Barry. He catches Barry’s lips in his own and Barry moves into the kiss. His hand moves up to cup Barry’s jaw and Barry’s hand curls around Oliver’s waist, pulling him closer.

They pull away at the same time, faces inches apart, their misty breaths mingling in the space between them, both breathless and filled with a new light.

“Barry Allen, will you be my boyfriend?” Oliver asks, eyes shining with joy.

Barry laughs, and throws his arms around Oliver, “Of course.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually so fun to write and I really enjoyed it. I have never made such a detailed plan for a fic only for me to Throw Away The Plan halfway through and winging it. Special thanks to @zealousconnoisseurrebel (on Tumblr) for helping me out with some parts which I got stuck at and Artemis_Luna for practically carrying me through the whole fic <3
> 
> It's Christmas for me now so merry Christmas everyone! Or, if you don't celebrate it, I hope you have a wonderful day!


End file.
